


Of Frilly Cakes and Chocolate Dreams

by IrLaimsaAraLath



Series: Pride Goeth [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, drunk, drunk fluff, fru fru drinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 23:22:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrLaimsaAraLath/pseuds/IrLaimsaAraLath
Summary: Solas gets smashed at the Winter Palace and fluffy fun ensues.





	Of Frilly Cakes and Chocolate Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This was born out of a conversation on Tumblr (with @vir-tanadahl @liaragaming @princessdreadwolf @rebel-of-elvhenan @katalyna-rose @ellstersmash @buttsonthebeach @elfsplaining) about drunk Solas headcanons.

With his obligations at the Winter Palace, to the empress, and to the Inquisition fulfilled, Solas had retired to the room provided to the Inquisitor for the duration of their stay.  He, of course, had been given his own room, but he couldn’t be bothered with pretenses.  The night’s excesses of wine and champagne were warm in his belly and on his cheeks, and the pleasant haze that comes with being more-than-tipsy-but-less-than-drunk made a plush fuzz of his mind.  With little care, he discarded his hat and his jacket on a nearby chair and flopped gracelessly on the bench at the end of the bed.  He considered momentarily the prospect of turning in for the night -- Niyera was still mingling with the nobles and fops of the court.  He could join her, he supposed, but while the intrigue of the night had reminded him pleasantly of times past, he had no interest in making small talk with insipid “nobles” that mistook their wealth and status as marks of true power.

 

He huffed a breath as he surveyed the room in discontent, restless, before he abruptly stood and strode back out the door.  No longer clad in the garish red of the Inquisition garb, he traversed the crowd effortlessly, attracting no attention at the edges of the room in a black shirt and pants.  He might as well have been a shadow amid the countless ostentatious lights that were quicker to draw the eye.  With no fanfare, he found his way out into the night and wandered through the narrow streets between the buildings.  For the most part, he was engulfed in silence.  The merchants’ shops were locked and shuttered, and there were very few souls out and about.  

 

However, as he rounded a corner, he encountered a shaft of amber light that fell through an open doorway.  Muffled voices filtered their way to his ears, and he turned his feet in the direction of that glowing golden portal.  When he stepped into the small tavern, he attracted only brief attention.  The patrons there at this time of night were all perched over their drinks in search of solace or engaged in hushed conversations heavy with either attraction or artiface.  Neither interested him at the moment.  Approaching the bar, he was greeted by a short, dark-haired human woman, who was still handsome despite her advancing years.  “What will ya have?” she asked as she tucked a bottle back into its place on the shelf.

 

“Mm,” Solas murmured behind his lips as he slid his eyes over the collection of bottles, an array of browns and blues, some greens, and others amber with the color of their contents.  “Something sweet,” he decided as he looked back to the woman, and a wry smile broke on her lips.  “Wouldn’t have guessed ya for the type,” she quipped as she turned her back on him and moved to fetch a _fancy_ glass from the far end of back counter.  As he watched her, he unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt, neatly folded the cuffs back, and pushed the rolled sleeves to his elbows.  Settling onto a stool, he propped an elbow on the bar, his pointed chin in his hand as he watched the small woman work.

 

If they had been somewhere else, in the mage tower in Skyhold perhaps, he could have easily mistaken her for an elite potion master.  The ease with which she measured out a dram of this and a draught of that was mesmerizing.  At one point, he even planted his feet on his stool’s rungs to sit higher to better see.  With the brisk clattering of shaking the concoction between two glasses, she deftly cracked the capsule open and strained the contents into the _fancy_ glass.  She tossed a glance at him over her shoulder, sensing his eagerness, and gently sat the drink before him.  His smile was lubricated by the alcohol he’d already consumed, and he quickly snaked out a hand to take the glass by the stem.  Before he could take hold of it, she popped the back of his hand, and he yanked it back, a deep scowl on his face.  

 

Without saying a word, she pulled a small, hand-held grater from beneath the counter along with a small block of dark chocolate.  With great care, she shaved a few curls of the sweet to float on top of the liquid, and replaced both under the bar again.  Then, she leaned back, motioned to the glass to indicate he was free to taste now, and folded her arms.  Solas squinted at the small woman, not entirely certain she wouldn’t slap his hand again if he tried to take the drink, but eventually, the scent of chocolate overwhelmed his caution, and he snagged the glass by the stem.  When he tilted the drink to his lips, he was for the briefest of moments dubious of the woman’s obvious confidence in her product.  But as the liquids stirred over his tongue, the taste of dark, rich chocolate assaulted his tastebuds, chased with a hint of almond and the barest note of black cherry.  The smell of it was just as exquisite, and he forgot for a moment he was sampling a drink rather than taking a nibble of a piece of _frilly_ cake.

 

He hummed his approval as he drained the glass and with all due care sat it back on the scarred bar top.  “Madam, that was divine.  I would have another, if you please,” he purred, and the woman’s lips spread in a broad, supremely pleased smile.  When she turned to mix up another chocolate potion of delight for him, he licked his lips and savored the lingering taste of the drink as its surprisingly high alcohol content caused his head to swim.  This experience had made the entire trip to the Winter Palace a thousand times more worthy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Niyera finally extricated herself from the circus of the palace court and escaped to her room, she was surprised to find Solas absent.  After changing clothes and checking with the rest of their companions only to find that no one else knew where to find him either, she stalked out of the palace.  She was tired.  Her feet hurt.  She _hated_ this place and all its trappings.  All she wanted was to go to sleep, preferably with her lover beside her.  --  The sound of her boots on the cobblestones was nearly the only sound to echo off the buildings as she traversed the side streets between the small buildings.  However, as she rounded a corner, she encountered a shaft of amber light that fell through an open doorway.  It seemed as good a place as any to check.  

 

When she strode through the door, she found that the tavern had a single patron, and he sat at the bar, hunched over, and gesturing broadly as he rattled on to the bartender.  “And, _that_ , Madge, is why I prefer _frilly_ cakes over pies.  They are the suuuupreme dessert among desserts,” he insisted as he raised his glass overhead.  A bit of the dark liquid sloshed out onto his hand, and he muttered a not-too-quiet _Oh dear_ before he went about sucking the cocktail from his fingers, one by one.  

It was very apparent, even without seeing his face, that Solas was three sheets in the wind, maybe four, and somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to continue being frustrated with him.  When he heard footfalls behind him, he swiveled the upper half of his body to squint back at her, but as soon as he recognized her, his eyes widened, brightened, and the lower half of his body lazily twisted around to join the top half.  “There she is, Madge!  My Inquishitor,” he slurred, leaning back briefly against the bar to whisper, or what he probably thought was whispering, “Is she not lovely?”  

 

Madge gave Niyera an indulgent and understanding nod, and she couldn’t help but return it.  “Solas, why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” she asked as she came to stand before him, his knees pressed against her thighs.  He made a sound, a hissing _psshhhh_ , as he waved his hand dismissively.  “You were busy with...with...Inquishitor matters,” he explained before he conspiratorily leaned forward and said, “ _Psssst_ .  You _musht_ try this drink, vhenan,” he crooned softly.  She had barely opened her mouth to politely decline, when he splayed his legs and tugged her against him, pressing his mouth to hers in an exceptionally sloppy, but flavorful kiss.  

 

The flush that crept to her cheeks and pricked the tips of her ears only worsened when she heard Madge laughing behind them.  Prying away from Solas with both hands, she held his face tenderly as she stared into his unfocused, but pleasantly crinkled eyes.  “Another time, ma lath,” she said, craning her head back as he leaned into her hands, striving for another kiss.  “Bhut, bhut,” he all but whined, “Ar lath ma, vhenan.  You are so beautiful, I cannot help but kiss you,” apparently having already forgotten entirely about the drink.  “Mmhm.  Perhaps we can continue this discussion back at the palace, in _our_ room, ma lath,” she encouraged.  

 

Solas’s face went slack a moment, and as his drink-addled mind interpreted the suggestion, his mouth dropped open in a small ‘o’ right before a lascivious smile bent his lips.  “Hear that, Madge?” he shot over his shoulder at the woman, who was now standing with a dish towel covering her mouth to hide the laughter that kept sneaking out.  “She wants to take me to _our_ room,” he said, then lowered his voice as he blinked his grey-blue eyes up at her in what he might have thought was a wink.  “I think she wants to bed me.”  

 

Madge apparently could no longer stand it, and she snorted with laughter, even as Niyera was tugging Solas to his feet.  “Alright, then.  We’re done here,” the Inquisitor hurriedly said, fearful of what else may tumble out of the apostate’s mouth.  “Thank you, Madge, truly,” she offered pointedly and genuinely as she deposited a short stack of gold coins on the bar.  The short woman nodded, mumbling an _Anytime, dear_ as Solas raised a hand to wave at the bartender before they were even halfway across the tavern.  “Yesh, thank you, Madge!  You were delicious...I mean, it was...I mean,” Solas stammered over his words, then dissolved into a fit of laughter that made it difficult for the Inquisitor to keep him upright.  

 

Niyera was all grateful smiles and embarrassed blush as she ushered Solas out of the tavern and began the long walk back to the palace.  --  When she finally closed the door to their room behind them, Solas’s arm was around her neck, and her left foot was sore from all the times he’d stepped on it between the tavern and here.  He was humming, off-key and in fragments, as if he was dozing off between bars.  He broke his musical endeavors to tilt a half-shut eye over at her, a soft, but drunken smile on his lips as he said, “You really are so good to me, vhenan.”  She shushed him and shuffled him over to the bed, trying to ease him down gently, but he flopped down, face first.  

 

She could still hear his voice as a now muffled hum in the thick bedding.  “Creators, Solas,” she muttered, mostly amused as she struggled to turn him over.  He was nearly completely dead weight.  When she had him on his back, she went about unbuckling his boots to sit them aside, then his trousers, which was slightly more difficult.  “I do not know what I did to deserve you,” he rambled, raising an arm as if he might reach for her, but it fell limply straight down again into his face, and he grunted.  A brisk pat to his bum convinced him to lift up enough for her to pull his pants off.  “Come on, Solas.  I need for you to sit up so we can get your shirt off,” she said, grasping both of his hands and tugging firmly.  

 

It took no small amount of effort, but between the two of them, she finally had him upright.  “Arms up,” she urged, and with all the laziness of a cat in the sun, he stretched his arms overhead.  Off came the shirt, and he was left in his smalls as he swayed unsteadily back and forth.  With one hand cradled behind the back of his head and another under his legs, she eased him back, “Scoot, pull your legs up,” she instructed, and he obliged.  She gently deposited his head onto a pillow and looked down at him only to find him staring at her with the naked sincerity only the profoundly drunk and the young can have.  “Ir lath ma,” he started, quietly as he draped an arm over her shoulder, “so very much.”  

 

She chuckled as she braced her hands on the bed to either side of him, leaning down enough to place a kiss first on his forehead, then on the tip of his nose.  “As do I you, vhenan,” she said, beginning to lean back as she continued, “You should sleep.”  Unexpectedly, he grabbed her in both arms and pulled her down onto the bed atop him.  She yelped, out of shock, not pain, then laughed before she could help herself.  “I do not want to sleep,” he complained as she shifted to lay against his side.  His eyes were half-lidded, his lips formed into a slight, but perpetual smile as she draped an arm across his chest and supported her head in her other hand.  

 

“I want to stay awake and talk to you for the rest of the night, and kiss you, and love you,” he drew on and on, each word growing successively quieter until he was utterly silent and still but for the rise and fall of his chest.  “I’ve no idea what I am to do with you,” she whispered, unable to do anything other than shake her head and ease out of his arms long enough to pull the blankets over him.  “I suppose I’ll just have to keep you and love you,” she said to him, leaning to kiss him on the cheek before settling down beside him.


End file.
